


Just My Type

by blanchtt



Series: mine tonight [2]
Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: Another day on the road, another night in a hotel - hardly a complaint, Therese realizes as she sits down on the bed. This one is fancier than the last one. It’s a large single room, a bed, couch, television, the works. And best of all, privacy.Or: In which Therese returns the favor in a fashion that includes bravery and unexpectedness (or at least she thinks so).





	Just My Type

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting a few deleted fics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another day on the road, another night in a hotel - hardly a complaint, Therese realizes as she sits down on the bed. This one is fancier than the last one. It’s a large single room, a bed, couch, television, the works. And best of all, privacy. 

 

They’d chosen the hotel simply because it had been the first one they had seen since earlier that afternoon, and as far as they could tell they had dodged the slimy detective for the moment. Parking, making their way inside, and checking in late had worked to their advantage - it was the only room available, the woman at the counter had said with regret as they were clearly two and probably not up to sharing.

 

But Carol had only smiled and mentioned taking the couch, and they’d do better not to be late next time wouldn’t they, before she had promptly inquired about the rooms on either side of it. Were there any young men present, because they really were trying to get some rest tonight before heading out early. But the woman had assured them that no, the two other rooms were taken by families, and if anyone was too loud they could simply call downstairs. 

 

And so Carol had paid, satisfied that they had put as much distance as possible between themselves and the detective, and the bellhop had quickly picked up their things and led them to their room.

 

They make their way up the elevator, down the hall, and arrive at their room, the bellhop opening the door and letting them all inside. Therese steps in, watches as he gets to work, and feels Carol’s hand on her back as she slips past her - a casual touch, simply to feel her, and she steps out of the way, lingers near the desk and watches Carol place her purse and fur coat on the bed, open it and root around.

 

“I insist you take the bed, Therese,” Carol says, and Therese looks at her, thrown by such a comment regarding their sleeping arrangements in front of someone else. But Carol looks sideways at her and winks as she opens her billfold, and she understands. _Nothing but friends and with no intentions of sleeping in the same bed - take note!_ “It’s my fault we were late.”

 

“If you insist,” Therese agrees good-naturedly, and tries not to smile.

 

With their suitcases arranged neatly the bellhop straightens and turns, gives them a smile that grows wider as Carol hands him a few folded dollars. “Management’ll take care of any needs you might have,” he says, and with a nod finally slips out the door, shutting it behind him.

 

With the young man gone, Carol finally reaches up to run fingers through her hair. Therese makes her way to the bed, the other side, and sits, watching Carol now stretch, back arching.

 

“This one’s got a real restaurant,” Carol says, making light conversation, and her hand travels through her curls and down the curve of her neck, massaging at an ache before sliding lower and resting on her shoulder. “I think I’ve had enough of sandwiches, don’t you?” 

 

Therese watches from the bed as Carol first steps out of her heels and pushes them out of the way, and then takes a suitcase off the floor, places it on the bed, near the end, and unlatches it, opens it, rummages through it. She reaches up absently to tuck a lock of hair behind her ears to keep it from falling forward as she sifts through her things.

 

“I’ll freshen up and then we can head to dinner. What do you say?” Carol asks, straightening up and unpacking a neatly folded dress. Therese catches her eyes, and aware of herself staring she nods. Carol takes a step toward the bathroom, frowns, and on second thought leaves the dress on the bed near her suitcase, grabbing her robe out of it instead. “Can you start the iron?” she asks, heading toward the bathroom. “I think it’s beyond wrinkled.”

 

“Of course,” Therese says, though she doesn’t move as she watches Carol walk away.

 

Carol is lovely in anything she wears. There is the coat, of course, and her dresses and heels and hats, and pretty things under all that that Therese enjoys removing slowly and suggestively when they’re alone together. But enticing in their rarity are the slacks and blouses Carol has somehow acquired for their trip. She can’t imagine them nestled in Carol's closet draped on hangers, slipped between the other beautiful things Carol has worn. In fact, Therese can’t imagine Carol wearing them at all, except here and now, and wonders if they’ve been hiding there all along or if they’ve been bought before leaving. In any case, the change must have to do with the environment - free from the gaze of anyone they knew, alone together, spending hours and hours driving. 

 

But at the end of each day, due back in polite company Carol inevitably slips back into a dress. A thrill to behold as usual, and she’s not complaining, but as the bathroom door closes behind Carol, Therese stands abruptly, walking toward it. “Carol?”

 

It takes a moment for the door to open - Carol appears as it opens widely. She’s still dressed, though she finagles with an earring, head cocked. “Do you want to go first?” Carol asks. When Therese doesn’t answer quickly enough, she finally gives up and lets go of the earring, walking forward to slip past her. “Go ahead.”

 

“Not quite,” Therese admits, gathering her courage, and Carol stops very close to her. They’ve shared so much between themselves in so little time, but she's felt no apprehension or regret. Certainly after last night, she blushes, this should be no different.

 

Therese reaches out, and keeping from looking Carol in the eye grasps the end of her scarf - with the twist of a finger she has a better hold on it, fabric wrapped around index and middle.

 

“It’s just that, before you change…”

 

Therese trails off, and looks up through lashes to find Carol watches her with with an unreadable expression. But when she dares tug gently on her scarf, urging Carol toward her by it, in its place amusement mixes with longing. They move together, and Therese finds herself with the hallway wall against her back, Carol before her, intimately close as Carol’s hips press against her, as hands settle around her waist. She tugs on the scarf again, teasing, and tilts her head up to let Carol kiss her. 

 

Why had it been Carol? Why Carol, out of everyone she’d ever met, even other women? She couldn’t say, and was glad it hadn’t worked out any other way, because now it seemed as if Carol and only Carol could satisfy her, not merely physically but completely. She had paled at the thought of a trip to Europe with Richard, but to within one night agree to run away with Carol, indefinitely - it had all seemed so natural, and still did.

 

Carol’s hands are on her waist, and so Therese lets go of the scarf and lets her own hands skim up Carol’s side, under the jacket she wears, over her ribs, grazing her breasts, and finally settling on her shoulders. 

 

“I like the sight of you in dresses and garters,” Therese says, knowing full well the effect her words have. She nudges at the fabric, and Carol complies, lets her slide the jacket off her shoulders and arms and fall to the floor. It leaves her in her slacks and blouse, and to better serve her purpose she moves under Carol’s hands, takes a step to urge Carol back, around, and against the wall, positions reversed. Carol settles against it heavily, and Therese leans against her, feeling a hand at her elbow, steadying her. “But I like this as well.”

 

Carol does not remind her of the women she had seen back in New York, the ones with the suits, real ones. Her hair was still perfectly done, nails freshly painted the day before, bracelets adorning each wrist, the hint of perfume following her. It is simply a different shade of Carol, one Therese had been surprised to see - the visible roll of her eyes as Carol had found her speaking with the detective when he had sat at their table that first morning; the tone both sharp and bored that would certainly have made her think twice about opening her mouth if it had been directed at her, cuttingly dismissive; and the way Carol had so clearly turned her body away from him, her smile only for her. It is a Carol that truly does not care for what others think, and that Therese can now see runs so deeply that she wonders how Carol hides it so well. 

 

Carol raises a brow, and the hand at her elbow slides up the length of her arm, settling on her shoulder, the other arm now around her waist holding her closer, as if in a dance. “Lucky for me,” Carol says brightly.

 

Therese kisses her once more, letting herself press against Carol, arms looped loose around her neck. To be in no uncertain terms guilted into sleeping with Richard had been painful and embarrassing. It had hurt, and he’d once laughed outright at her, at her uncertainty and - what else? She hadn’t even known enough to know what he had been laughing at. She’d let her mind wander, during, wishing for it to be over and for him to finally grow bored of her body or company, whichever came first, and leave. 

 

But with Carol - there is no _getting through_ what they do. Carol’s touch sets her heart beating and body wanting. The caress of a hand has her turning into the gesture, a kiss to the corner of her mouth has her angling for another. She wants nothing more than for Carol to pin her against the wall, to nip at her neck, to run a hand up the inside of her thigh, to let her rock against her hand, hot and slick and eager for the feel of her inside, before finally Carol grants her that - and to do so to Carol in return.

 

Carol’s embrace goes slack and the touch of her disappears before hands slide over her hips, grasp and drag her against her, against the thigh between her own with a firmness that has her whimpering into Carol’s mouth. And despite her plans Therese rocks against Carol, aware of her own growing slickness, and clutches at Carol's arm as Carol deepens the kiss and her tongue slides against her own. It is somehow so easy for Carol to do that - to with one kiss or glancing touch or even a look have her eager for her. 

 

But Therese breaks their kiss, a hand sliding down to Carol’s shoulder, pressing as she arches away.

 

“No.” Carol’s grip goes slack at her words and the distance she puts between them, but Therese steals a kiss before speaking, hips still moving slowly against her. They hadn’t even woken up with enough time to fool around in the shower that morning because of how late she’d kept them up. And besides, she’d like to watch Carol come undone for once. It would really only be fair. “Let me.”

 

As Therese finds her footing again and lets go of the grip she has on Carol’s arm, the leg between hers withdrawing with one last press up against her, she steals a glance at Carol, who stands back with lips twitched up in the beginning of a smile, waiting patiently, and Therese is afforded a glimpse of her at a younger age, carefree and glib as always and, poignantly, not quite so serious. 

 

The scarf is the first to go.

 

Therese reaches up, the knot coming apart easily in her hands - the fabric slips almost like water between her fingers, and now it rests only around Carol’s neck, the ends loose. Therese takes a side, slips if off of her, and from the feel of the fabric, the flawless silkiness of it, she knows better than to let it fall to the ground. But in the hallway so far from any furniture there’s nowhere to drape it. Therese thinks for only a moment before reaching up, behind herself - at the opportunity Carol’s hands once again splay against her back, urging her closer - and draping it around her own neck, tying it loosely, and giving Carol what she hopes is a coy look. 

 

“How do I look?” she asks, and Carol appraises her, looking her up and down slowly as if in serious thought. 

 

Whenever she had felt a man look at her, glancing at her and without a single word or any input on her part distilling her down into _fuckable_ or _frigid_ \- she knew, even without it being spoken aloud, because she wasn’t stupid and could _sense_ it, and felt even more stripped bare that any man knew this, too, and didn’t care - it had always made her shoulders go stiff, her cheeks hot, unable to do anything except smile and pretend it wasn't happening even as he leered at her. And then when they spoke she wished they hadn’t, selfish and insincere in their demands. _Hey, beautiful. Why the face? Smile for me, baby!_

 

When Carol does look at her Therese only feels herself blush, knowing that she is taking in the sight of her with adoration, and that it is silly to blush because Carol has kissed her way up and down and back up her body already, eagerly, and clearly has no plans to stop in the future.

 

“I like it,” Carol says finally. And then the timbre of her voice changes, an eyebrow raising. “I think you should wear my things more often.”

 

The action would, like their relationship, be their secret. To anyone else she’d be wearing a simple scarf, a beautiful one surely but otherwise not extraordinary. But it would be Carol’s scarf on her, a token, and Therese lets her hands rest on Carol’s ribs and wonders what else of hers that Carol envisions her in.

 

“Such as?” she prompts, and feels a rush of warmth flood through her as Carol reaches out, cups her jaw with a hand and urges her closer.

 

“My coat,” Carol says against her lips, and kisses her slowly. “With nothing else on underneath,” she continues, a murmur, and Therese feels a hand slide under her shirt, and arches into the touch, “except a few choice pieces of lace, which I would take great pleasure in divesting you of.”

 

If she were to speak now her breathlessness would give her away, and so Therese swallows before speaking.

 

“If you’ll let me,” Therese agrees, and Carol cups her breast, squeezing, and lets her continue without interruption. “But some other time.”

 

Therese gathers herself and finds her direction again. _Carol’s blouse_. She lets her fingertips trail down Carol’s stomach, stop at the waist of her slacks, and tugs the tucked ends of the blouse out from under the waistband. She’s aware of her knuckle brushing against Carol’s stomach, low, and focuses on not fumbling on the buttons of the blouse as she undoes them, working her way up. Soon enough they’re all free, and Therese brushes the fabric away, bares Carol as the blouse joins the jacket on the floor.

 

Carol’s hands leave her, and Therese presses against her, now her turn to cup and squeeze and have Carol breathe heavy under her touch, arching to her touch and through the thin fabric of her bra peaking quickly. As she bows her head to kiss and bite at Carol’s collarbone she hears, “Therese.” But it’s only Carol saying her name, for her to have the feel of it in her mouth and to hear it said aloud, confirmation that she is there, really there, the two of them alone together and despite everything collaborating against them doing something so simply and profoundly enjoyable.

 

Therese rests a hand on the small of Carol’s back, pulling her closer as she tilts her head back to eye the love bite she’s begun to leave. The length of her presses Carol against the wall, Carol’s breath in her ear, arms now wrapped tight around her, but she feels neither trapped nor overwhelmed as she had always instinctively felt when pressed into the situation before, where she had been dragged into Richard’s embrace or cramped under him wondering regretfully how in the world she had gotten herself into such a situation. Instead the stillness of Carol lets Therese know that she is waiting, for her to move, for her to tell her what she’d like.

 

Standing does not leave her in a position to press kisses to Carol’s breast or down her stomach very easily or even to use her mouth at all - but perhaps that’s the whole point. Sorry to part with the taste and scent of Carol as Therese nuzzles at her neck but still eager to move on, she lets her hands trail back down Carol’s sides as she nips at her jaw. She reaches down with both hands, feels Carol drape arms around shoulders as she pops the button of her slacks, drags down the zipper to give herself room, and with palm against Carol she lets fingertips slip under the waist of her slacks, under the top of panties and soon slipping through wet heat. 

 

She hadn’t been oblivious. There had been some niggling thought she couldn’t put her finger on, grasping at shadows. And then. Had Carol known the entire time, of what between them was suddenly so clear? If Carol had, she’d done a marvelous job at hiding it, because as Carol had stood behind her in Waterloo and met her gaze in the mirror, a hand squeezing her own, she’d though she’d come to some insane conclusion, a heartbeat and a breath before Carol had lost a bit of her smile, understandably, and taken a leap and tugged on the belt of her robe, baring herself. 

 

And so Carol _had_ known, and it was so very clear because Therese had felt lost compared to Carol, who knew as if by magic where to press a kiss to make her moan and how to curl her tongue to make her tremble and arch and gasp.

 

But rather than laughter her quiet admission, that she wanted to do the same for Carol but hadn't a clue where to begin - not wanting to be a pale imitation of her and her motions but to tailor the brush of her fingers and the press of her lips to Carol’s wants - had earned her a fierce look from Carol, a kiss that was long and soft, fingertips brushing the hair out of her eyes, before Carol had offered with understanding and kindness to guide her. 

 

Therese presses lips hard to Carol’s, and Carol is slick and silky and _hot_ around her - at first one finger and then with Carol’s own fingers curling into her shoulder, nails digging, two - and she knows now that there is more she can be doing and lets her thumb swipe carefully, feels Carol’s hips jerk as she kisses her and swallows her gasp. Carol pulls her closer, and with her free hand Therese braces herself against the wall, rolls her hips and feels Carol widen her stance, a hand on her arm urging her on. 

 

As much as she loves when Carol touches her, their relationship is not simply a take on her part. To have Carol move under her is a stunning sight, one she has quickly grown to crave; to feel her grow wetter and tighten around her and gasp draws the same reaction from her; to have Carol’s fingers in her hair tug her closer to ride every last shudder has her laving harder, faster. She falls into a rhythm easily, Carol no longer kissing her but merely gasping in her ear - so it must be her, breathing hard. How had she never known such closeness, such openness was possible?

 

When Carol comes Therese works shudder after shudder out of her, until Carol’s hand on her arm urge her to stop. She stays close, to help Carol stay standing, and it’s only when the trembling has turned into occasional quiver and Carol tilts her head down, kisses her forehead, that Therese slips her hands out of Carol’s clothing, reaches back to draw her hand over her own skirt, and on second thought raises fingers to her lips, takes them into her mouth - the taste of Carol is bliss, and she closes her eyes as she sucks it off her fingers and swallows, hears Carol breathe out close by.

 

“Hungry?” Carol asks coyly, eyes narrowed in amusement as Therese opens hers again, and Therese feels her cheeks burn as she sucks once more, slips her fingers from her mouth quickly. _Too much?_ But Carol’s hands cup her jaw, and there’s another kiss to her cheek, reassuring.

 

“Not yet,” Therese answers truthfully, and feels the brush of Carol’s thumb against her jaw. Food is far from her mind, but she looks up. “Unless you’d like to go to dinner soon?”

 

“Oh, not really,” Carol say slowly with a playful smile, clearly recovered. She lets go, and Therese watches as with a few tugs at the fabric, her slacks slide off her hips, down shapely legs and to the floor, where she pushes them away. Carol slips out of her grip, and Therese finds once again that she’s urged with her back to the wall, as Carol slinks down her front.

 

With a steadying hand on her hip Carol kneels before her, and one hand slips under her skirt to hook over panties and drag them down. Therese presses a hand back against the wall to keep her balance, the other bunching in the fabric of her skirt and sweeping it out of Carol’s way as a shoulder nudges under a leg, lifts, as Carol takes a moment to pause and kiss her thigh and nip before teasing.

 

“I think I’m craving something off the menu right now.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
